


The Shadow of a Heart

by girlintheivy



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: BAMF Merlin, Druids, M/M, Magic, Magic Revealed, Merlin/Arthur - Freeform, Protective Arthur, druid warlords
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-13
Updated: 2013-09-06
Packaged: 2017-12-08 09:24:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/759759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlintheivy/pseuds/girlintheivy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An alternative take of Merlin, diverging at S04E08. Rated for later chapters.</p><p>The druids had been peaceful, quiet, avoided the men of Camelot. It was the safest for them. But, their problems came from within, and blood was spilled.</p><p>As the most peaceful race of beings become the deadliest, Arthur is forced to make some difficult decisions for his country. His choice would have been easy, except for his loyal servant, Merlin, who reveals something more than what Arthur could have expected. Does Arthur chose his heart or his mind?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

##  Prologue 

## 

Merlin had imagined many different ways in which his magic would be revealed. Tied with that, he had imagined different ways in which his life would end. He examined every possibility and mentally prepared himself the best he could for any and all outcomes. He prepared probable strategies and vague ideas of how he would get out of the situations. He taught himself the idea of acceptance in the face of death and damnation. Every variable was examined. However, in none of those idle nightmares had he foreseen this.

In the end, the druids were Merlin’s downfall.

:--:--:--:--:--:--:--:--: 

There had been rumors, but they were mere whispers in the shadowy corners. They never reached the king’s ear, but if they had, things might have ended up differently. However, Uther remained oblivious to all the going-ons among the druids and thus he did nothing to prevent it.

Iseldir, a noble druid chieftain who had once possessed the Cup of Life and a part of the Triskelion, who had welcomed Mordred into his clan, normally kept the druids true to their nature. He was a conscience and a leader, proof of the kindness and honesty of the druids, their love and belief in nature and magic. The druids were peaceful. 

Then, a newcomer entered their midst. He was, of course, welcomed, because he was a practicer of magic and exclaimed a need to learn more about magic, to understand nature and goodness that magic could bring. Iseldir took him as an apprentice and watched as the student became a master. He was given the name Faileas, the shadow, the reflection. Faileas renounced his previous life and embraced this new one, or so it seemed. Iseldir was happy for Faileas, but suspected a darkness still lingered within this man’s heart, preyed upon him and would destroy him unless Faileas could learn to control it. He, gently, suggested that Faileas meditate, go on retreats into nature, purify his body and soul. Faileas said he had things under control, he just needed time. Iseldir gave him that and then some. 

Faileas became fast friends with Mordred, despite the age difference of fifteen odd years. Iseldir was happy to see the two have someone to rely on. He did notice the darkness in Faileas’s heart was always present. But, it was just a shadow around the heart still and Iseldir was an old man who wanted to believe the best in his followers, so he ignored it. He explained it away, but it never left, those shadows. He did not notice the ones starting to grow around Mordred’s heart. He knew about the shadows in Mordred’s mind, but those he knew, with time and love, could be erased. He hoped that Mordred and Faileas could fix each other. 

Mordred grew, Faileas learned, and still both of them were haunted. Iseldir could see it in their faces, their eyes that gleamed a little too brightly for the dim light. He tried to help them. He tried everything he knew, from talking, to listening, to spells. Still, none of it worked. He could only watch as the two descended deeper and deeper into the shadows. 

He would have done anything to stop them from fighting.

It was a sunny day in early autumn when things came to a head. After weeks of wandering near the borders, Iseldir had led his band of druids back into the forests near Camelot. It was best there, for the resources were many, the enemies few if they stayed away from the knights, and it was peaceful. They were preparing for winter, trying to find the best place to spend the long and cold winter awaiting them. 

Their camp had just been set up. Things were quiet, but that was not uncommon for them. The druids were a quiet people. 

Mordred walked up to Faileas and, with ease, slapped him. Faileas stared at the young man, as if seeing something that no one else did. Finally, he spoke, his voice like gravel. “What was that for?”

“I have seen what you are planning, Faileas.” Mordred’s voice was quiet, but commanding. The druids watching all stopped what they were doing to watch this back and forth. “It is not permitted.”

“It is no more than what you are planning, Mordred. Do not deny it; your plans are written clearly for any with the wit to look and see!”

“And, of course, these plans are only seen by you, because no one else has the ‘wit’ to see it? I am not named for the shadows, like you! Even Iseldir has seen the darkness that lies within you!” Mordred pointed to Iseldir, who leaned against his staff, watching the fight with a heavy heart. He waited to see how his two apprentices would settle this matter and hoped that he would not have to interfere. 

“There is darkness within you, Mordred, sworn to no one. You follow neither the Old Religion nor the new. You are without a god, because you hope to become one!” Faileas growled. 

“I know no mortal man can become a god. We can emulate, but we can never become. Throw falsehoods elsewhere, because my character cannot be besmirched. I put myself before the the world and let it judge me and it has found me willing.” Mordred extended his arms, daring Faileas. “Your words mean nothing, because they are empty and unfounded!”

Faileas let out a harsh bark of laughter. “You use your words to twist our minds and feed your purpose. You would see us all destroyed for your purpose!”

“My purpose?” Mordred growled, raising a hand bathed in flames. “You accuse me!”

“And you bring us to blows!” Faileas raised his own hand covered in a swirly mist of ice. 

Iseldir walked forward there, raising a hand. The magic was dispelled, disappearing into nothingness. Iseldir took a few deep breaths before speaking as the two young men glared at each other, but did not move any closer together. 

“My boys, it pains me to see you two like this. Faileas, Mordred, you are my apprentices and you were friends. What has happened to change this?” As both began to speak, Iseldir immediately called for silence with a single gesture that was immediately respected. “Mordred, Faileas, you shall speak in turns. I ask that Mordred go first since he first dealt the blow that began this.”

Mordred did not remove his eyes from Faileas’s as he spoke in a quiet, clipped tone. “He conspires to leave us after all we taught him. He does not want to stay after everything we have done for him.”

“Faileas, your response?”

“He plans to break away and leave, find some woman. He is not as noble as you think.”

Iseldir sighed. He had known that this time would come. The two apprentices had destinies that were deeply entwined but they were covered in darkness each. The two were close, almost brothers, but fate would separate them. However, he could keep them closer, could he not? The path ahead of them was foggy, but Iseldir recognized a place, a key turning point that had to occur. 

“Faileas, Mordred, I ask that we take some time and then reconvene. At twilight meet me at the shrine. Us three shall talk there. Is that agreeable?” 

The two nodded their assent before setting off in separate directions to await the designated time. Iseldir surveyed the other druids who stared at him. “It will all be fine. Brothers sometimes fight.”

“They’re not brothers,” a druid child whispered. 

Iseldir knelt down in front of the kid, putting a hand on the boys shoulder. He gave the boy a kind look. “They’re not brother by blood, but they are brothers in spirit. We are all brother and sisters in soul. Remember that, child. You will never be steered wrong that way.” 

Twilight fell and Iseldir stood in the middle of the shrine. The light autumn breeze set the cloths that were hanging swaying. The little well was tucked around a tree. It was fitting that this place that had once been the site of a massacre had become a shrine to guide the spirits. It was here that his two apprentices would begin to mend their minds and their relationship. Healing out of death. 

Mordred lowered the hood of his cloak as he walked towards Iseldir and Faileas. The two of them waited for their elder to speak. “Mordred, Faileas, I understand that there have been some misconceptions and misunderstanding, but I believe that we can talk through this and get everything out into the open. Thus, we will be able to make the best decision for everyone.” 

The air was still enough to cut it with a knife. Then, Faileas laughed. “Oh, Iseldir, after everything...you can’t still think...”

“What?” Iseldir asked, giving Faileas a piercing look. 

Mordred shook his head, smirking. “So blind, Iseldir. You saw what you wanted to. Or rather, you saw what we wanted to.”

It was then that Iseldir realised what had been happening. He realised that he had been played. The two were not fighting. They wanted to lead him here and it was a fixed point in time, something that had to happen. He could not have foreseen this. “I know your name, Faileas, your true name. I can command you.”

“You could,” Faileas conceded. “But you won’t.”

Mordred drew closer, drawing out his dagger. “You will not. This is what must happen.”

“You think I will stand here idly and allow you to kill me?”

Faileas shook his head. “Yes.”

The gesture confused Iseldir and that was enough. Mordred had the blade in Iseldir’s heart in a matter of moments. Iseldir had never been able to suspect anything of Mordred, had always thought that it would be Faileas to betray him. The body slumped to the ground, little more than a empty shell. Mordred looked to Faileas, cleaning off his knife. “Don’t think that this makes us friends. This was a necessary working together, but you and I will not continue from here out until--”

“Until after we convince the rest of the druids that this was an attack by the king,” Faileas said flatly, having already retreated to the well and pulling out supplies. He returned and started laying things out: a scrap of red cloth, a spare blade, and some grass fragments. Mordred set to work on the body, but he did nothing to change it. “Will they believe it?”

“No magic was used. All the signs are here. Now, come along. We don’t have time to waste.” 

Faileas headed back to the camp. Mordred hesitated, hanging back. He looked once more at his handiwork and whispered, “This is just the beginning. It was not the kingdom that kept us reigned in, but you, Iseldir. Rest now and wait. I’ll come back. I’ll come back and destroy your heart.”

The evidence was piled against Camelot and the druids believed the two apprentices of their leader. Iseldir, their wise elder, their leader, was gone. Desperate, with no other options, they believed that their only option was to fight. Faileas and Mordred separated, both promising that they and only they knew the way to defeat the king. More and more druid bands heard the news of Iseldir’s death until all knew and the tribes began to split. There was infighting, brothers turned against brothers. Above it all, Mordred and Faileas moved their pieces into order, preparing for the final battle. 

Thus, the druid warlords were created.

:--:--:--:--:--:--:--:--: 

In Camelot, the kingdom mourned the loss of their king, but rejoiced as Arthur became the new king. Still, Arthur was a somber king, still mourning for his father as the months went on. The people of Camelot watched their new king come into his own.

It took him time, but soon, he was proven to be the king that they needed, as young and inexperienced as he was. He was a quick learner and able to think on his feet. He was a noble sort and truly devoted. He would do anything for his people, even sacrifice his own life. 

At his side was his trusted manservant, a boy who would die for him. 

Arthur had returned to Camelot with his trusted knights, Merlin, Gaius, and Gwen just before winter fell. The group had suffered problems from a lamia, but, in the end, things had been put to rights. 

Of course, they did not know what had transpired in the woods. They did not know that just outside the walls Camelot, on the night that they returned, that Mordred and Faileas had committed a most heinous crime. As Arthur teased Merlin about being saved by a girl, Faileas laughed at Iseldir. As Arthur kissed Gwen, Mordred stabbed Iseldir. As Arthur looked out the window at the night and thought about his kingdom and the choices he would have to make, Mordred and Faileas went to the druid camp and revealed that it was the king who had ordered the death of their leader. 

Merlin’s dreams that night were plagued by screams and cries, echoes of the battles breaking out in the woods as druids turned and fought. Overnight, the most peaceful group of beings became the most deadly. 

The snow the next day was stained with blood.


	2. The Snowy Shrine

“Come on, Merlin! Keep up!” Arthur called over his shoulder, his horse leaping over a fallen tree. “You’re falling behind!”

 

“I’m coming, sir,” Merlin muttered sarcastically under his breath. He hopefully kicked the deep chestnut coloured horse, looking down at him. He frowned and sighed. “Come on, Lucky. Little faster.” 

 

The horse nickered and shook his head, twisting away from Merlin’s hold on its reins. Lucky slowed down and eventually stopped, holding stock still and refusing to move. Merlin tugged on the reins, trying to get Lucky to move. The warlock jumped when he heard low laughter next to him, turning to see Gwaine there. 

 

“What?”

 

“His most royal highness requires you to be at his side immediately,” Gwaine said, nudging his horse forward with his heel. He came up next to Merlin, Peachblossom completely complacent, obviously infatuated with his rider. Merlin frowned at the strawberry roan, annoyed with how Gwaine just connected with his horse. And Lucky, it seemed, because Merlin’s horse nickered happily when Gwaine put a hand on his neck. “So, come on, Merlin, get Lucky together and catch up.”

 

“I’m trying, but he just doesn’t seem to want to,” Merlin groused, pulling on a loose thread of his tack. “Why does Arthur need me there? Can’t he just cope?”

 

“He always needs you,” Gwaine said with a laugh. “Straighten up, hold on tight.”

 

“Why?” Merlin asked as he did so, looking curiously at Gwaine.

 

“Oh, no reason,” Gwaine said innocently and then slapped the hindquarters of Lucky. The horse whined and barreled off, Merlin just barely holding onto his horse. Gwaine watched them dart off and laughed, galloping over to Arthur. “He’s on his way, sir.”

 

“Are you sure about that?” Arthur looked around and then smiled as a windswept Merlin and Lucky came up besides them. “Took you long enough, Merlin.”

 

Merlin merely grumbled and pulled his cloak a little closer around him. Arthur couldn’t stop himself from laughing and reaching over and ruffling Merlin’s dark hair, dotted with white snowflakes. Merlin blushed slightly, averting his eyes from Gwaine’s curious gaze. 

 

“What was that? I couldn’t quite hear you, Merlin,” Arthur said teasingly, smiling. 

 

Merlin did not have a chance to answer, because suddenly there was a snowball thrown his way. He managed to dodge it, but Gwaine was not as lucky. His face was hit hard with the snowball and he spluttered, “Who threw that?!”

 

There was laughter all around, but no one took credit. So, Gwaine frowned and almost glared. “I’ll get it out of you. It was--”

 

He was cut off as another snowball hit him in the face and Leon laughed loudly. 

 

“Leon!” 

 

“What? Someone needed to shut him up,” Leon said calmly, glancing around at the other knights, just a hint of a teasing tone there. He was normally so quiet and stoic that it was a surprise to hear him joking. But, the knights enjoyed bringing that side out of the older man. It would take a while to draw it out of him, but it was well worth the effort. 

 

“Good aim, Sir Leon,” Arthur said regally, surveying the scene. Then, swiftly, he leaned over in the saddle, scooped up a handful of snow, straightened up, and pelted it at Leon, who was hit squarely in the chest. “But, my aim is better--” He was hit in the back of the head in an explosion of white powder.

 

“Are you sure about that, your majesty?” Elyan asked, laughing. 

 

And like that, the knights all commenced in an exceptionally adult and knightly snowball fight, laughing and acting like the children they never were. Everything was going well and good until Merlin’s horse was hit by a snowball. 

 

“Merlin!” Arthur yelled, “Stop your horse!”

 

It was almost poetic, the knights chasing after Merlin in the newly fallen snow. Of course, some of that quality was lost by the face that most of the knights were still laughing and tossing the odd snowball around. Only Merlin looked terrified by the fact that his horse was out of control as did Arthur, who had stopped joking, kicking his horse into a faster gallop. 

 

“Merlin!” Arthur called out again.

 

“I’m trying! I can’t!” Merlin cried, struggling with the reins. Lucky whinnied and sped up. 

 

They were in the thick of the forest, constantly dodging trees, their horses jumping over the fallen trees. Arthur was in the lead of the pack chasing after Merlin, who had had the reins ripped out of his hands and was currently clinging to the horse by its mane. He struggled to stay steady on the horse and not fall off. They were going so fast through the mess and the snow was falling harder. 

 

Merlin saw a flash of red, red blood on white snow and felt the oddest foreboding feeling. They had tread too far into the forest and he saw stone monuments and a powerful, melancholy aura surrounding the area. There was the familiar sound of magic ringing in his ears, overpowering his senses and forcing him to pay it attention. And then his horse stopped and Merlin was thrown. There was a crack from his arm and a sickening thud as his head hit stone. 

 

:-:-:-:

 

“Merlin!” Arthur kicked his horse into a harder gallop. He jumped off his horse when it refused to go farther than Merlin’s had and ran to Merlin’s side. He gingerly turned his servant on his side, taking in the arm bent at the strange angle, the blood in Merlin’s hair from the force of impact. “Merlin...”

 

He touched the side of Merlin’s face gingerly and then looked up as Leon came first over to the scene. The rest of the knights joined, the horses on the periphery. They were careful with Merlin, trying to evaluate the extent of the damage. Arthur sent Percival off to scout the area and figure out where they were. By the time Percival returned, they had started a fire and Merlin’s arm was wrapped up tightly to hold the bones in place. Arthur was sitting by Merlin’s head, running his fingers through Merlin’s hair gently, careful to avoid the cut on his servant’s head. Arthur did not look up as he asked, “Percival, where are we?”

 

“About a half day’s ride away from Camelot, I think. We’re in a druid shrine, I think. And, from the looks of it, there was a fight recently. A lot of blood. But, uninhabited from the looks.” 

 

“All right.” 

 

“Sire, what are your orders?” Leon asked calmly, in control. “We told your uncle we would be back by nightfall. He will be worried.”

 

“Merlin can’t be moved,” Gwaine said quickly. “It would be dangerous.” 

 

“You will all go back to Camelot. I will remain with Merlin.” Arthur’s voice was final. “Merlin will awake tomorrow and we’ll ride back.”

 

“Sire, are you sure that’s--”

 

“I will remain with Merlin,” Arthur said again, blue eyes flashing up to meet his knights’. “You will all return to Camelot.” 

 

There was little arguing after that point. Gwaine and Elyan set up a tent for Merlin and Arthur, into which Percival carefully carried Merlin into and put down on a bedroll. He was then covered up with blankets, to try and stop the shivering. Leon was silent, watching it all unfold. He had nothing to say, not now. Before long, as the sun started to set, the knights left, looking back often at their king. Arthur watched them go and then went to sit at the head of the tent. He looked back at the sleeping manservant and sighed. He stoked the fire and then pulled out his sword, ready and in wait for anything that may dare to approach them in the night. 

 

:-:-:-:

 

Merlin woke up, panting and sweating, eyes wild as he looked around, searching for the monster pursuing him. But, all he was met with was the inside of a tent and bright blue eyes that were much too close to his. He made a startled sound and floundered backwards, away from the eyes. He whimpered, hurting his arm. 

 

“Gods, Merlin!” Arthur grabbed the dark haired boy before he could hurt himself further and steadied him. “What’s got you acting so mad? Everything’s fine. I’m here.”

 

Merlin looked at Arthur, still breathing heavy. It took a while, but he started to calm down, relaxing against his king. “Arthur. What...What happened? Last thing I remember I was on my horse and it...it threw me?”

 

“Yes, it did.” Arthur sighed and settled down, pulling Merlin a little closer. He let his servant get settled, leaning against his shoulder, his arm wrapped around his shoulders. “Your horse stopped all of a sudden...threw you off. You broke your arm and hit your head hard. Leon says that you should be all right until Gaius can check you out. But, I’m under orders to keep you awake until then. How are you feeling?”

 

“Sore.” Merlin made a face. “How long has it been?”

 

“Just a night. The sun’s about to rise and once it does, we can ride back to Camelot.”

 

“Everyone else?” Merlin looked around, trying to peer out the flap of the tent. He could only see the fire that was burning low at the moment. “Are they all sleeping?”

 

“No, they went back to Camelot. It’s just us, Merlin.” Arthur turned and nuzzled the top of Merlin’s head affectionately. “Are you all right?” 

 

Merlin was quiet for a moment and then nodded. “I’m all right. In a bit of pain, but I’ll cope. You?”

 

“Better, now that I know you’re all right.” Arthur tilted Merlin’s face up to his. There was a second while they just looked at each other and then Arthur tried to lean in, but Merlin turned his face to the side. “Merlin, come on.”

 

“It’s not proper, sire.” Merlin’s voice had just a bit of an edge to it, one that might be mistaken as annoyance to someone who did not know Merlin as well as some did. “So I would ask for you to desist.”

 

“Come on, Merlin, it’s just us. There’s no one here to see us. No one’s going to find out.” Arthur tried to coax his servant’s face back up to his. 

 

“So that’s all I am to you? A secret?” Merlin got up to his feet, indignant and hurt. “I am not--”

 

Arthur had also got to his feet and pulled Merlin into a brief kiss that ended with Merlin slapping him. “Merlin, c--”

 

“I don’t want this, not right now, Arthur!” Merlin turned and fled the tent. He did not stay far past the fire, distracted by the blood he saw in the show. He stared at it, hearing something just out of earshot, the sounds of quick conversations and children crying. Unwittingly, he followed the sounds and the blood, all the way to the little stone well and he stood there and felt the pain and conflict of people led like sheep to the slaughter years ago. He put a hand to his mouth to try and cover up the gasp that left his lips, but it was too quiet in the snowy woods. In the newly risen sun, his eyes glittered with tears as he listened to women and children be drowned in the little well, all to prove a righteous point. He was frozen to that spot, trying not to cry. 

 

Arthur came up besides him and put a hand on his shoulder. “Merlin?”

 

However, Merlin was silent and unresponsive, still looking in horror at the well and Arthur knew it was bad. He knew that somehow Merlin knew, because Merlin always knew. Merlin always found out. He did not know how, but Merlin had a way of finding out everything, of knowing too much and all Arthur could do was try and help him understand. “There were druids murdered here, years ago, Merlin.”

 

“They were just children...how could he do it?” Merlin turned to look at Arthur, torn between anger and sadness. “They were people, Arthur, they were and he--”

 

“Not ‘he,’ Merlin.” Arthur was quiet for a few more moments. “How could I, is what you mean.”

 

“You?”

 

“I was young and I know that that is not an excuse. But, it is all I have to explain. I made a mistake, Merlin. I was trying to prove a point and...” Arthur looked helplessly at his friend, shrugging. “I made a mistake.”

 

“A mistake? You killed people, Arthur!”

 

“I know. I know.” Arthur pulled the sobbing boy into an embrace that Merlin did not fight this time. He kept one arm looped around his waist, the other going to pet his hair gently and comfort him. “I know, shh.” 

 

They stood like that for a while, Merlin crying for the lives lost and Arthur trying to comfort him and apologize for mistakes he had made before he had even know Merlin. Eventually Merlin stilled and pulled away. Arthur let him. He watched Merlin look around the druid shrine, taking in everything. Finally, Merlin looked at him and asked, “How can I come back to Camelot now?”

 

“I can only hope that you will.” Arthur leaned up and kissed his forehead. “Please come back with me.”

 

Merlin nodded, looking at the ground. His place was with Arthur. It always was. His entire destiny was wrapped up in the blonde king and he would follow him to the ends of the world itself and back just to serve at Arthur’s side. Because Arthur was the Once and Future King and Merlin was his faithful servant. Merlin would die for Arthur a thousand times more. It was completely understandable for him to fall in love with Arthur, but that did not make it any less painful. It hurt, every secret glance and stolen kiss killed Merlin a little. But, he could no more end their relationship than he could move mountains. He was trapped, watching his heart get pulled apart every day. 

 

His place was at Arthur’s side. 

 

He remembered the first time that they had kissed. It had been a winter celebration scarcely a year earlier. Uther had still been alive and well. Arthur wasn’t heartbroken. Morgana was still wandering the palace with true kindness in her smile. Gwen and Arthur were still awkward around each other.

 

They were celebrating something, but Merlin could not remember. What he did remember was the gold of Arthur’s hair under the candlelights, how brilliantly blue his eyes could be, the shock of the scarlet tunic. They both had been drinking some of the mulled mead, perhaps a little too much. The dignitaries  were all well entertained and the festivities went well into the night. 

 

Merlin had been helping Arthur back to his rooms, but they were both rather wobbly on their feet and a little giggly. Somehow, Merlin had ended up pinned against Arthur’s door and the prince himself. They had been talking about something, but it was all fuzzy. Perhaps how low cut Morgana’s gown of the evening had been, or how Gwen had stumbled over her feet in the dance the foreigners had tried to show off to Uther. And then Arthur and Merlin just trailed off into silence, looking deep into each other’s eyes. And all of a sudden, Arthur’s warm lips were on Merlin’s, caressingly and soft and it was all so sweet and innocent, that first kiss of theirs. Merlin got lost in it, leaning up and pressing into it. 

 

They parted and stared at each other, both trying to contemplate what they were doing and why. But then they had just proceeded to kiss again, fiercer now and full of promise. Promise of what Arthur wanted to do to Merlin and what Merlin wanted to give to Arthur. All in a kiss, they tried to solidify what they wanted, what they needed, their feelings. It wouldn’t be able to work, but still, they tried, because speaking of it would be too real, much too real for them to admit to themselves. 

 

They had sprung apart as they heard the guards coming down the hall on their nightly patrol. Breathless, Merlin had opened the door to Arthur’s bedchamber and ushered the drunk prince in, nodding knowingly at the guards who were used to the sight of the dark haired young man helping their prince. 

 

Once the door was closed, Merlin and Arthur had just looked at each other again, as they were wont to do. And Arthur had kissed him again, but this time lighter than butterfly’s wings and asked Merlin to stay the night. Merlin had done so and all they had done that night was fall asleep in each other’s arms, everything right with the world. And the next morning, Arthur had woken Merlin with a kiss and that was that. Their relationship was decided at that moment and Merlin had never thought to speak up and perhaps try and redefine it. He was Arthur's secret and that was it. He got Arthur in the night, in the dark, when no one else was looking. Gwen got Arthur every other moment and she had no idea what happened between Arthur and Merlin during the nights. 

 

Merlin wrapped his arm tighter around Arthur’s waist as they rode back to Camelot. He broke the silence with a simple question: “I wonder who all that blood was from?”

 

“It was fresh. Someone that badly injured would not have been able to make it far,” Arthur answered. “Perhaps it was just a deer or something.”

 

Merlin kept it to himself that the blood bore the aura of a human. A human with magic. Some secrets were better kept to himself. He pressed his face into Arthur’s shoulder and just breathed it in while he had it. While he still had Arthur. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merthur as promised! :D
> 
> More plot to come next chapter.


	3. Many Meetings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very sorry for the delay! Life sort of came at me. However, here is the next chapter. Hope you enjoy!

Faileas waited in the shadows in the snowy forest, the cloak of his hood hanging low over his face. The moon was nearly full, hanging low in the crisp night air. The stars winked and shimmered, a festive background for this, an ominous meeting. A woman dropped from the trees overhead and bowed at Faileas’s feet before straightening up. 

“Sir?”

“Speak freely, Dariana, and speak quickly.”

“He approaches from the north.”

“Good. What else?”

Dariana hesitated then, shifting from foot to foot. “Sir, we have evidence that King Arthur and his knights passed through the shrine.”

At this, Faileas smiled, an expression that stretched his features and made him look more like a gaunt skeleton than a man. “Did they now? Did they see the present we left for them?”

“I-I don’t know, sir,” Dariana answered in a wavering voice. Faileas waved her off. “Go. Your presence no longer pleases me.”

She was only too quick to retreat deep into the forest. Faileas did not have to wait long before he heard the footsteps of another approaching him. He smiled again and turned. “Oh, it is my brother of the soul, is it not?”

Mordred dropped the hood of his cloak and stepped into the moonlight. “And it is the brother of my heart. You summoned me here and you know that we have no shared love. What say you?”

“What say I? I bring you news, dearest brother,” Faileas said, expression mild. “King Arthur and his men stumbled upon our little scene. They have seen the blood.”

“You brought me here to tell me that? You know as well as I that the men of Camelot are very often blind to what is put in front of them.” Mordred shivered and pulled the hood back up, preparing to leave. “If that is all--”

“It is not. We will fight, I promise you that. But, I believe we could simplify matters. You see, in light of our uprising, others have started to seize control. There are more warlords than just us, Mordred.”

Mordred hesitated at that, betraying that he was worried about the conflict that had been started amongst his own people. For while he wanted to overthrow Arthur, he wanted to avoid the loss of as many Druid lives as possible. “I’m listening.”

“Good. I believe that for the time being, we should form an alliance. As soon as the Pendragon is on the ground dying, we shall become enemies again. This is necessary.”

“Keep your friends close and keep your enemies closer,” Mordred murmured. He looked up at Faileas with a sharp look. “What is your plan?”

“Very simple. We divide and conquer.” Faileas went closer to Mordred, tilting the shorter man’s face up to his. “I will go for the Pendragon and you will search out this ‘Emrys’ that I have heard stories about in the shadows and you will destroy him or make him our puppet.”

“And how would you propose I do that?” Mordred took a defensive step back, trying to get away from Faileas’s touch.

Faileas laughed softly, a dangerous sound that had Mordred shiver, as much as he tried to hide it. Faileas had always been just this side of mad and for a while, it had been in check. Iseldir had kept Faileas together, had pieced the broken man back into some semblance of order and brought him back to the light. And now, it was clear that without that safety net, Faileas was disintegrating back into the man he had been before, the one with a shadow cast in his mind. He was no druid. His magic coursed under his skin and nearly burned him alive. Mordred could see the strands of it running through his body, wrapped around his heart. This was not a man to trifle with. 

“Have you really forgotten everything that I taught you? Come now, Mordred, you know how to bind someone to you. Or do you think I did not go back and check on Iseldir’s body?” Faileas leaned in and whispered in Mordred’s ear. “I noticed that his heart was gone.”

Faileas pulled back and said quickly, before Mordred could try and defend himself, “Of course you destroyed his heart. It would not do for anything else. Someone could have...fallen across the body and taken the heart and then...well, you know how that goes, don’t you? You were just doing what you were supposed to do. What I meant for you to do.” 

Mouth dry and heart racing, Mordred nodded, hands curling into fists. Faileas took everything in about Mordred in a look and smiled. “Of course. Good to know that we are on the same page, brother. I will contact you when the time is fitting. Otherwise, I think it is for the best if we go our separate ways. But, my men will not harm yours and I will rely on yours doing the same. And we will separately work towards the goal of destroying Camelot.”

He held out his hand and Mordred clasped it. And then Faileas was gone and Mordred sagged against a tree, realizing that he was just a little bit out of his league. Faileas would burn the world itself just to achieve his goal. And he had just talked Mordred into joining him in this suicide mission. Mordred allowed himself a few moments of quiet, racing thoughts as he tried to sort through everything that had happened and figure out a course of action. Then he forced himself back up to his feet and dusted the snow off of himself. He would need allies of his own, strong men and women for when Faileas and he had succeeded. The killing of Arthur Pendragon would be important, perhaps instrumental, but it was not the fight that Mordred was worried about. It was the fight that would occur between him and Faileas that preoccupied his thoughts, for the man was stronger than he was. And Faileas was much madder. 

Mordred would need his own allies. He would need a champion and he knew exactly where he would find one.

:-:-:-:

“Merlin!” Arthur’s voice rang through the castle. He was clearly in some sort of mood. Gwen sighed and shook her head, tired of it all.

She reflected that Merlin and Arthur had been both strange since they had returned from the hunting trip three days ago. Their knights had come back first, all ruffled because Merlin had been injured and Arthur had not let them help or stay with them. He had sent them away. Upon their return, an injured Merlin had moodily and quietly gone immediately to Gaius, without listening to Arthur or speaking to him after the king had helped him off the horse. Arthur had been cool after that, clearly troubled by something, but he would not explain what was wrong. He would not even greet her when she came dutifully over to his side, all happy to greet him. He had pushed past her and gone to his quarters and remained there for what little was left of the day. And the next morning, he had been about his normal duties, minus Merlin who was still recovering with Gaius. Arthur had been especially surly that day. And now, Merlin was back on his feet, arm wrapped up tightly. He was sadder, it seemed, but Gwen did not know what was weighing down upon him. Or on her hopefully future husband. 

Merlin nearly ran into Gwen, hurrying towards the sound of Arthur’s voice. “Hello, Gwen. Sorry, Gwen!”

Gwen put a gentle hand on his shoulder, stopping Merlin in an instant. They looked at each other for a moment. “Merlin, what’s going on?”

“I really need to get to Arthur and find that--”

“Merlin,” Gwen said in a warning tone, one weighted with power. 

He looked at her and felt himself deflate just a little bit. She would make a wonderful queen one day. She saw what was needed to be seen, if it was attempting to be hidden. She had authority in her, even when she had been naught but a servant girl to Morgana. And even now, she did not back down. And Merlin could see in her eyes some semblance of understanding. She might not know the specifics, because he and Arthur had been far too careful, but she could figure it out by looking between the lines. Merlin gulped, blue eyes wide, as she gave him a knowing smile. “Love’s hard, isn’t it?”

“Gwen, it’s not what you--”

“She’s a lucky lady, Merlin, even if she hasn’t come to her senses yet. And don’t let Arthur overwork you. You deserve some time off to go see her.” Gwen patted his cheek. “Off you go.”

Merlin nodded and darted off, letting out a sigh of relief. She did not know. Not yet. 

Gwen watched him and shook her head. It was all so tremulous and tender. And she had seen the look of relief on Merlin’s face when she had said ‘she.’ As much as it would break her heart, she understood. Servants and masters always had very, very close relationships. And sometimes, perhaps, the lines got blurred. She could not say a word. She could only sit and watch from the distance, wondering when things had become so complicated. 

Merlin dashed down the hall, going to Arthur’s side, as much as it pained him to be there. It was all so bittersweet, because while he may be with Arthur, he would not remain there. Moreover, to see Gwen before made it all so much worse when Merlin let himself into Arthur’s chambers. 

“Close the door, Merlin.”

Merlin was already having trouble catching his breath. He obeyed, keeping his back to Arthur as much as he dared to. He did not know what to suspect. 

“Lock it.”

His fingers just slipped over the latches. It was not dark outside. It was not night. This was not the time for what Merlin suspected was coming. He was slow, so slow in turning around. He hoped Arthur would keep giving him orders. It took longer and maybe Arthur would start to lose interest in the game. 

But, Arthur had somehow silently made his way over to Merlin. Merlin looked levelly at him, trying not to betray how affected he was by the appearance of his king and master. Arthur was in the thin red shirt that Merlin had dressed him in this morning, Gwen still sitting in bed watching. It brought out the blue of his eyes, the gold of his hair, and reminded Merlin with a horrid finality that this was the king of Camelot, the once and future king. The one Merlin was meant to serve, not to love. He swallowed and just looked at Arthur, trying to keep his emotions under wraps and hidden. 

However, Arthur knew. He reached out and tenderly cupped Merlin’s cheek in a hand. “Are you scared of me?” His voice was gentle, quiet, almost gruff. That was how Merlin knew he was speaking honestly and truly.

“No,” Merlin replied without hesitation. “Not even a little bit.”

“Then why have you been avoiding me?”

“I’ve been healing, my lo--”

“Merlin, how many times do I have to tell you?” Arthur leaned in closer, his warm lips merely centimeters away from Merlin’s and now Merlin was unable to focus on anything except how much he wanted to taste Arthur. “It’s ‘Arthur’ when it’s the two of us.”

“But--”

“No, ‘buts’ about it. Merlin, please...” Arthur was not playing fair, twining his free arm around Merlin’s hips and pressing his servant against the door, trapping him between Arthur’s warmth and the solid weight of the wooden door.

“Arthur,” Merlin said finally, gasping as hot lips touched his neck, just above the handkerchief. “Arthur, please, we can’t, not right now.”

“Why not?” Arthur dropped the hand on his cheek and tugged the scrap of red cloth down to bear more of Merlin’s pale skin. His path now unobstructed, the king kissed down towards the collar of Merlin’s shirt, the hand dipping down to cup a hip and run his thumb over the bone he could feel there, stroking him like he was wont to do when they were tangled in bed and Merlin was begging for more. “We’re alone...it’s just us...”

“It’s--” Merlin did not quite get to finish his sentence because all of a sudden there was pounding on the door and Gwaine’s voice came through. “Sire! We’ve got news from Saxons. It’s urgent.” 

Arthur and Merlin just stared at each other, an icy blue gaze full of tension on both sides. Not all was sexual either. Arthur was the first one to break it, leaning in and claiming Merlin’s lips for his own. It was a soft caress, not demanding. However, it was full of promise of more to come. There was the insistent knocking again that finally pushed Arthur away from Merlin. “I’ll be right there, Gwaine. Please.”

“Of course, sir!” Gwaine called out cheerfully, followed by his retreating footsteps. 

“Will you come with me?” Arthur asked softly, gently. He was still treating Merlin as if he may just break. Perhaps Merlin would.

“Of course, Arthur.”

:-:-:-:

Mordred was cautious as he approached the clearing. It had been a while since he had last seen Morgana and though she had fallen out, he had kept tabs on her. Mordred kept tabs on everyone. He was of the mindset that there was no useless person and that everyone you met could be instrumental, even if their use was not yet obvious. Morgana would make a formidable ally. She might even be strong enough to keep Mordred from going to desperate measures. He let himself into her home, not waiting.

She was sitting at her table, pouring over an old archaic text. She had clearly had quite a fall, her clothes a tattered mess and her hair wild around her. Sharp blue eyes met Mordred’s own as he walked into her domain. 

“If it isn’t the druid boy...Mordred. The years have changed you,” Morgana said coolly. It was impossible to tell if she was glad to see him or not. Her face was chiseled out of fine alabaster and her words like ice. 

However, Mordred did not back down. Morgana was not Faileas. He was not so easily cowed by a princess who had tried and failed to take power. “Hello Morgana...it has been some time.”

“Yes, it has, has it not?” Morgana got to her feet and strode over to him, a stately, proud walk over to him. “Oh, how you’ve grown, little Mordred. You have found your way back to me now? What more is it that you need?”

“It is not what I need, Morgana. It is that I have missed you.” 

Morgana laughed, drawing level with him. “Oh Mordred, you think I believe that? You are sweet to try. So sweet.” She reached out and drew him into a hug. “Come, we have much to discuss. Perhaps you can help me where so many others have failed.”

**Author's Note:**

> I know it's a bit of a slow start, but there needs to be set up for the plot I'm planning on. I will be taking some liberties with druid culture, but will be staying as faithful to the show as I can. Next chapter, I promise, there will be some Merlin/Arthur.


End file.
